Stray and Logan did not come out of the cave for a long time after that, but come out they eventually did.

After all, as Logan pointed out, they would have to find food if they were to keep up their strenuous… activities. And lovely as she was in her nakedness, Stray at least would have to find some clothes. Not that he particularly wanted to see her wearing them, he stressed, his grin wicked, his hands roaming, but it really wasn’t very fair on the other ladies that one so lovely should go unclad in front of their men folk-

Stray couldn’t have been entirely certain, but she suspected he was jesting through that last part.

Nevertheless, with a heavy heart and a decidedly uncooperative attitude to dressing- Logan may have stated that he wanted her wearing something but his attempts to keep her out of even his shirt and coat told a different story entirely- Stray and her Sunlight Lock eventually managed to get themselves looking vaguely presentable and made their way back to Shaw Manor. Their hands joined together, Stray’s flesh singing where it touched his- For it was true, she could touch someone that she truly wanted to touch. By the time they got to the great hall it was obvious that they had missed Shaw’s wedding: They came into the great hall to find Emmalaine seated at the head of the room on a raised dais, her bride’s diadem glittering on her head, her hand pressed firmly into Seneschal Shaw’s as if she were afraid someone was going to appear and run away with him-

And considering some of the creatures she had angered over the years, Stray supposed that was no idle fear.

To Frost’s right Duchess Shushanna sat hand in hand with a tall, distinguished-looking man who sported twin streaks of greying hair at each temple: This, Stray realised, must be her true husband, the King’s Alchemist Richard Stormholt. The man who’d once been a commoner called Richard Reed, the man from whom Latverius had spirited Shushanna away. Beside the Stormholts two small children played together at the edge of the dais, a blond girl and a dark-haired boy who looked so much like their mother there could be no doubt they were her kin. They laughed and capered, merry as only children can be, but when the Duchess looked at them Stray could see worry and doubt in her eyes. Could see the pain of a separation which had not been her choice but the work of the masked man Ororo had killed. Stray was not the only person to notice the Duchess’ distress: Other members of her retinue were ranged around the room, dancing and laughing, trying to engage her in their merriment- After all, it was a wedding.

Even if it had started out with a would-be-husband’s murder.

Nobody it seemed could succeed in distracting the Duchess though, despite their obvious attempts. Not that it stopped the party from trying, or moving at its own, hectic pace. Stray watched as the merry, red-and-blue clad page she had spied earlier led a pretty blond girl close to his own age through a quadrille, swinging her up and around with such deftness and grace that Stray was tempted to think the boy one of the Cursed. He looked almost like he could climb the bare walls. Beside him Gainsborough danced, dressed to the nines in a gentleman’s doublet and hose, swirling Kitty Shadowskin. Petya looked on jealously, Illyenka seated on his knee. Every so often a muscle in his jaw would clench as Gainsborough whispered sweet nothings in his former wife’s ear, the reaction making Stray frown.

“So no change there then,” Logan muttered to her, and Stray found she had to agree.

“He’d best get used to the notion of sharing her,” Logan added, but she was too wise to say anything to that.

Not that it mattered though: There were far too many other interesting things going on for Stray to dwell. Anthony Ironclad was seated by the massive fireplace, a lovely redheaded woman to his right: Her body was covered in armour as lethal and shining as his own and she had an open, happy smile. Stray heard someone refer to her as Lady Phillipa, but since nobody made any formal introductions she couldn’t be sure this was the woman’s name. And the lady was hardly dressed to dance, so she wouldn’t get to ask. Beside her sat the woman Stray had spied earlier wearing widows-full-morning: She had her head bent closely towards a muscular, compact man who wore an archer’s ring on his thumb and a soldier’s leathers, one hand wrapped around his with a fierce possessiveness which Stray suspected she could understand. The archer’s eyes were covered as if he had been blinded, and from what Stray could see his skin was greyish and sickly, its surface cut and cross-hatched with a multitude of scars and marks. His lady was clearly upset, trying to coax him into eating something: Stray heard Anthony Ironclad call him Lord Barton, telling him to do as his Natenne bid him before she started trying to mother everyone else. At his words Stray started, realising that he must be the famous Blackhawk, head of the King’s Guardsmen-

But the rumour was that he had been accused of treason several years ago by Victor Latverius. Ballads had been sung in mourning for his loss. What in Mab’s name, Stray wondered, would he be doing here?

For the only reason the Blackhawk would come would be if he were reinstated into his duties by the King, a King who had been invited to his favourite Seneschal’s wedding…

The spring maid- no, she amended to herself, she was a summer dam now she’d given her heart and her maidenhead- Shuddered at the thought of it, a chill running through her for the first time that day. For whatever understanding the Company of Miracles had found here would be undone if the King arrived: His hatred of the Cursed was oft-told and well-known, and he had personally written the Proclamation which had designated all the Cursed as bound-beyond-law. Many who had stood against him had been sent to their deaths for their trouble; It was said that the very walls of his palace had wept for the untold numbers of the dead. Stray swallowed, worry peaking as she reached down and took Logan’s hand, suddenly in need of reassurance. One look at Gainsborough alone would probably be enough to send the regent into fits, and if he was coming to the wedding-

If he was coming to the wedding then she, her mate and the entire Company of Miracles would do well to begin planning their departure. Now.

Logan frowned, sensing the change in her mood. Cocking that eyebrow at her, the question so obvious he did not have to give it voice. Stray tried her best to be discrete, gesturing towards Barton with her eyes; She could only hope that he understood the import of the blinded man’s presence without her having to endanger them both by saying it out loud. Logan followed her line of sight, frowning, knowing that there was something wrong but not really understanding what it was. His hand tightening in hers though, giving her his reassurance that all would be well. But before Stray could ponder how to further communicate she heard something which knocked the breath right out of her body, thoughts of Barton and what his presence might mean flying right out of her head. For suddenly there was a clarion call of trumpets and a sound of men- many men- marching-

And then the doors of the Great Hall flew open and suddenly every person in the room, noble, servant and Cursed alike, bent double, their blessing hand pressed to the ground, their face averted.

A massive, armour-clad man strolled into the room, Etienne de Rogeres and Ororo at his heels, his copper-toned armour flickering in the candlelight, an iron crown on his head, and in that moment Stray realised that the King had truly arrived.

For a moment there was absolute silence, fear hammering through the room. Every one of the Company of Miracles freezing in place, both Gainsborough and Petya moving stealthily to hide Katherine Shadowskin though she was surely in less danger of discovery than most. The music stopped, the musicians unwilling to raise their faces up; Even the cocksure Anthony Ironclad kept his face and that of his Lady turned resolutely downcast. And then, very slowly, Shushanna Stormholt got to her feet, a look of wariness and then slow-dawning wonder on her face. Her hands reaching out, beseeching, towards the man Stray knew must be the King. Shushanna let go of her husband’s hand, her fingers ranging out to gently stroke over the monarch’s chest, his face, like a blind woman trying to trace his features. Her hands coming up to cradle his cheeks, her blue eyes suddenly awash with tears. The King reached out, pressing one massive hand to the Duchess’s and in that moment Stray realised that what she had taken for armour in fact looked more like dullish, copper-coloured rock. The pieces of it moving together as if it were living flesh or cunningly wrought armour, though if it was the latter they made not a single sound. For a moment she could not understand what she was seeing and then the answer came to her, obvious to anyone who knew the history of the Summerlands, the import of it dizzying-

The man who is King is one of the Cursed, Stray thought dizzily, who would have thought it?

But he can’t be- Richard isn’t- it was his brother Benjamin who was rumoured to be the Cursed one.

And Victor Latverius slew Benjamin many years ago…

But then the newcomer said the words that sealed his fate and told everyone in the room just who they were in the presence of. Told everyone just how much Ororo had changed the course of the Twelvelands’ fate when she took her revenge on Victor Latverius. “Suzette,” the King said softly, “Suzette, I knew you would recognise me…”

Duchess Shushanna reached out, stroking his cheek again and slowly, hopefully, smiled.

“Benjamin,” she said softly, “My dear Benjamin, is that really you? Have you really returned to us..?”

The stone-fleshed King nodded, reaching down to press a kiss to the Duchess’s knuckles. “Aye, little one, I am restored to my throne.”

In that moment a great yell of joy suddenly moved through the room, the assembled people throwing themselves to their feet with a great, happy howl. The realisation that the King was one of their own making the assembled Cursed clap and grin. Duchess Shushanna threw her arms around the King as if he were a long-lost brother, which, Stray realised, in many ways he was: For the man before her was not King Richard, Hammer of the Cursed, the man who had hated them with so much passion that he had declared them all wolfsheads. No, the man before them was his brother, the true and legal heir, King Benjamin, the man the ballads said had raised Shushanna Stormholt as a child. The man the ballads had called the Stone Prince.

And now, Stray thought, her grin widening, he was the Stone King.

“Benjamin,” Shushanna was saying joyfully, “Oh thank the Goddess you have returned to us. But how- When-?” And then understanding moved through her eyes. “It was Latverius’ death which did it, wasn’t it?”

King Benjamin nodded. “When word reached his people they finally let me go: They had not wished to keep me prisoner but dared not disobey the King’s Conjuror. After that it was merely a matter of facing my treacherous brother and taking back the throne that was rightfully mine.” He gestured to Ororo and then, surprisingly, to Gainsborough.

Stray and Logan both laughed as the blue man gave the room a dashing bow.

“I had help though, do not think I did not,” the King continued. “But thanks to my loyal subjects, Cursed and Uncursed alike, I have persevered and returned to you, and now I can set about restoring our realm to rights. This man-” he nodded again to Gainsborough, “Came and rescued me, at the bidding of Etienne de Rogeres. Saved me, when a guard would have done me harm. And this woman here,” he gestured again to Ororo, “rid me of Victor Latverius and helped restore to my proper place. Bowed down and showed fealty to me, though I am told my brother’s reign did her a grave harm and robbed her of her beloved husband. Neither of these fine people had to help me, for both are Cursed and have been treated unjustly during my brother’s reign. But they still aided their liege in his time of need, and I will not forget it-”

And King Benjamin reached out and took Shushanna’s hand, placing it in Ororo’s to the obvious pleasure of the crowd.

Ironclad, de Rogeres, even Lady Barton smiled then, the black-clad woman whispering what the King had done in her blinded husband’s ear. Even Logan grinned and clapped, his usual tough-headedness softened by the obvious kindness with which the King was treating his friends. Stray brought his hand to her mouth and kissed it, blushing bright red when Lord Ironclad saw the gesture and laughed. Blushing even more brightly when Lady Phillipa scolded him for the actions. But the King was still speaking, and Stray supposed she had better listen.

She supposed they had all better listen, for such times as these were rare.

“I can think of no better place for a new beginning than a wedding, can you my little Suzette?” King Benjamin was saying, and the Duchess nodded, sharing a delighted grin with her own Duke Richard and her babes. Her daughter had bounded forward to be presented to his Majesty but the boy remained hidden shyly behind his father’s long legs. The King made sure to shake the boy’s hand though, another gesture which made the room smile. “So why don’t we celebrate as we are wont to do,” King Benjamin continued, “and begin my reign with laughter and lightness and a dance, eh?”

And with those words Duchess Shushanna raised the stone-flesh monarch’s arm above him and yelled out the only words that would suffice in such a situation:

“The King is dead,” she told the room, “Long live the King!”

And then she swung her monarch into a dance, the fine Duchess finally finding it in herself to smile.